


Heartbreak Hotel

by monchy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monchy/pseuds/monchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His mom had mental problems, or at least that’s what his dad used to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbreak Hotel

His mom had mental problems, or at least that’s what his dad used to say. Not that Ash paid all that much attention, busying himself by throwing rocks at the small lake behind the house, chasing squirrels, or staring with wide eyes at his brother’s motorbike. It wasn’t very big, and it didn’t run precisely fast, but Ash had never seen one of those, and he was fascinated by the electric blue of the tubes and the idea of his hair running free in the wind. That’s when he decided he would wear his hair long. His parents never paid enough attention to him to lecture him about how inappropriate it looked in an eight year old kid.  
  
One day, Ash dismounted the TV, spread all the tiny pieces in the wooden floor of the living room – which was also his _bedroom_ – and studied them one by one in the light of the sun. He didn’t hear the floor creek when his father walked in, and he kept staring at the metal, enthralled by how every piece just clicked with the other. Perfect order, he would think from now on. His father, though, yelled at him with all the strength he had. He tried to slap him, hurt him, but he was way too weak for it, too pathetic, so Ash wasn’t scared. He didn’t really know what pathetic meant, since it was yet another word coming from his mother’s mouth whenever she was angry at dad, but Ash had learned that adults always told the truth when it came to insulting.  
  
School was good, easy enough and mostly boring, so nothing more than a big building filled with chicks for Ash. He used to strut along the corridors, thick hair tied in a low ponytail and cocky smile place between his lips. He thought Lisa, the cheerleader captain, totally liked him. When at the age of sixteen, she pulled his pants down in the bathroom, and then ran away with them, Ash learned a huge truth: most chicks? Were bitches. Two days later, he lost his virginity to a hooker named Tania. She was forty five, tall and lanky, had fake blonde hair, fake huge boobs, and probably fake lips too, but she made him a discount, and a couple of years later, when he left town, she gave him a freebie.  
  
His brother John died soon after that. He had been a military, a good soldier that had bled and cried for his country, and that should have died with a bullet in his heart, taken for his honor and his sacrifice. Instead, he died when his wife, a woman that had been beaten more times than she cared to remember by her loving husband, defended herself by sticking a kitchen knife in John’s throat. It was rusty, too. He bled for hours, and as she packed up and left the room, he gurgled and made a last try at insulting her. She spit on him, and then she left. Ash didn’t cry at the funeral, or when he removed his brother’s Motorhead posters from the walls of his room. He kept all those stuck in an old leather suitcase, along with the keys to his brother’s motorbike.  
  
Ash left town when he was eighteen, ready to show the stupid asses over at MIT what a town boy could do. They hadn’t liked his looks or the way he talked, but his brain was way too good to reject. He would only go back home once, when his little sister Molly died giving birth to her bastard son, and her first one too. At least as far everyone but Ash had known. He had taken her to get an abortion when she had been fourteen, and too afraid of talking to John and being beaten, or talking to mom and dad and being ignored. Ash had signed the papers, had kissed her in the top of her head, and had given her a pack of condoms. He did cry at her funeral. When he left, he kissed his nephew goodbye, never to see him again.  
  
MIT was, as Ash had already predicted, a place full of pompous bastards who sneered every time they caught sight of his mullet, his leather jacket and his blue steel bike. Ash knew better than to pay any attention to that, though. His roommate, a guy named Mark, had been quarterback at a privileged private school, and was probably the dumbest person Ash had ever met. He had gotten a sport scholarship, he was big and he snored like Ash imagined an elephant would. Ash got used to sleeping in the sofa of the common room, curled up around the laptop he had built with spare pieces from multiple broken machines. Worked better than that McIntosh shit the rich kids bought for themselves.  
  
In one of his classes (all of them completely stupid, but hey, someone had to be there to be smarter than the teachers), Ash met Catalina. She was a Spanish girl, long black hair and big brown eyes, and the first thing she told him was that she was named after a queen. Ash made her laugh, and she always told him that he was something else. He told her that she was only attracted to her manly roughness and his wild hair, and then she laughed, wrapping her hands on strands of his hair whenever he went down on her.  
  
It wasn’t a love story, not with Ash wandering to bars to get drunk every night, and with Catalina cheating on the fiancée she had left back home, but it was something. When she appeared in the school grounds, supposedly attacked by a bear, clothes ripped apart and face contorted in fear, Ash knew it had been something else entirely. He got drunker than ever that night, and ended up asleep in the dirty floor of his usual pub, being awakened by an old guy and the stench of his breath. Ash decided it was an omen settling above his head.  
  
He left the MIT with a bag full of clothes, his laptop, his bike, his mullet, and no degree. He drove across small towns, working on this and that, and finally settled in one of them, getting a job fixing cars in some old garage. It was easy enough, and he got to play with cars. He rented a room in an old house to a lady called Rose, who lectured him on his drinking habits and who always kept leftovers for him in the fridge. He kissed her goodbye every morning, and walked her dogs for her. Rose made the best lasagna in the world, and when he left her (eight months later, when his sister died) he hugged her goodbye and cried a little on his way home.  
  
Leaving home the second time around was even more depressing than it had been the first time, but Ash got over the sadness of his family soon enough. He found a place called the Roadhouse, a nice lady with an adorable daughter, and started sleeping on their pool table. Weird people were always around, speaking in hushed tones whenever he walked by, but it didn’t take too long before he was Ash, the genius, the one who could find whatever supernatural creature it was you were looking for. He sold his bike, and rented the little room Ellen had used for storage up until then. He settled his laptop, his clothes, and proceeded to drunk himself stupid every hour of the day he wasn’t working for some hunter or other.  
  
He met cool people, and a couple of pretty ladies. Got a few good blowjobs in the back room, and loved his life easily enough. John Winchester was probably the best of them all, with his gruff voice and his kind smile, and Ash always wondered if there was something going on between him and Ellen. Hell, he’d go for it if only she wasn’t so goddammed scary. Instead, he flirted with Jo every time he took one too many beers. One night, she elbowed him in the balls for touching her ass, and then made up by taking care of the hurt zone with her mouth. She told him it was the first time she did that, and he believed her when she almost bit his cock off. She was a fun girl, though, and Ash was way better than any of those filthy hunters who came around the bar. Not better than Dean Winchester, though. When Jo left, a couple of years after Ash had settled in the Roadhouse, she said goodbye with a long night of sweaty sex. He wished her good luck.  
  
Sam Winchester got him obsessed with the demon. The Winchester’s demon, whoever the bastard was, was a big, fat motherfucker, and one hard to catch. Ash took it as a challenge, and thought about that one time when he had dismounted the TV to look at the tiny pieces inside. He wondered if that had meant something at all in his meaningless life. He wasn’t a deep philosopher, though, so he couldn’t quite tell. It was nice that it was the demon precisely what got him killed, perhaps the one little thing that told him that he was onto something, that he had found something useful. He said goodbye to Ellen on the phone after he told her what was going on. He felt fire and pain, and he knew that was what death should feel like. He didn’t see his life flash before his eyes, and he didn’t think of his parents or his siblings or Catalina or Jo. He did picture someone kicking his burnt boot, and murmuring, with a wry expression, there goes Dr. Baddas.


End file.
